


in dire need of some assistance

by cattlaydee



Series: i'll make a million mistakes [2]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, F/M, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Washingdad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:55:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9810227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattlaydee/pseuds/cattlaydee
Summary: General Washington is at a loss, having lost Manhattan and been pushed back into New Jersey. Disenchanted with their efforts and desperate, he requests names from his most trusted General's for potential aide's that will help win the war.They give him one.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [you outshine the morning sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5492954) by [herowndeliverance (atheilen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheilen/pseuds/herowndeliverance). 



> so i haven't yet decided how I'm going to post these, so for right now, i'm leaving this a one-shot. 
> 
> it would probably be a good idea to read the first story in the series [poison & wine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6442441/chapters/14746597), as it lays most of the backstory for what happened in Nevis; there will be Easter eggs and little things from that which pop up throughout this story that reach back to it, but the stories should at least be able to be understood as a standalone (at least, they were intended to be)

Sometimes he wondered how the colonies had gotten themselves into this mess, this farce of a defense. Lately, it seemed, defeat faced them at every turn, and with paltry resources at hand, the near future seemed bleak. 

What had begun with cautious hope and optimism at early victories had quickly devolved into madness.

General George Washington slid from the top of his stallion, pressing his lips into a line in an effort to maintain a shred of decorum in the face of battle weary men. He strode toward his headquarters, flanked on both sides by his most senior officers, and brushed past the open flap of the tent. Pulling it closed once they were inside, he rounded to stand behind his desk with a growl.

"Are these the men with which I am to defend America?!"

He slammed his hat down on the desk's surface, the tent's frame shaking with his fury. His subordinates Greene and Knox drew back at the uncharacteristic display of emotion from their usually stoic commander, who'd lost himself venting his frustration and his anger at the cowardly retreat of untrained young men in the field. He collapsed into the chair behind his desk, fingers at his temples as he closed his eye with a deep sigh.

"Your Excellency," General Greene began gently. "Many of these men are farmers, not soldiers. We are militia, they lack training, and they have never truly seen..."

Washington didn't open his eyes, and merely waved his hand, expression full of disdain. "I understand, General, and part of me feels for them. Forgive my frustration, I just don't know what I will do with them. We are in the war's midst and I have an army of untrained soldiers who know not how to fight. And while you, gentlemen, are seasoned and talented in the art of war, I fear I have few within my confidences that I can truly entrust and expect a modicum of competence." He sighed, finally looking up. "I apologize for my outburst."

"You are under much stress, General, it is understood."

"Billy, some Madeira, if you would," He beckoned to the slave who stood in the corner without looking up, and motioned for the other men to sit across from him. He sighed, rubbing at his temples.

"It is so difficult, with our factions split between Britain and ourselves. We lost many a good men to the side of the Loyalists," He shook his head, nodding a thanks as he took the wine from Billy, and sipped at it. "There are few left with credentials or promise that I have found in the whole mess."

"We have come across a few, Excellency, in our time out in the field. If you would like some recommendations on who may fit well within your post, sir." Knox began, shrugging softly.

They rambled off a few between the two of them, Washington motioning for Billy to jot the names down as he would want to vet them accordingly before ever fully considering them. When the men trailed off, Greene seemed to stare at Knox in question, before voicing his query.

"What of the other one, in Manhattan?"

Knox raised a brow. "The mouthy one from King's College?"

"Aye, that one."

"He didn't seem very receptive..."

"Well, we are not all George Washington."

Knox rolled his eyes with a smirk, drawing a chuckle from both men at Greene's sly glance between them.

"Well," Knox began, shifting back in his seat as he crossed his legs. "There's a young man of 19 that we've both tried to get within our ranks but he refuses the aide-de-camp role every time. He's a shrewd mind though, and I still believe he would be a great value in the role."

Washington frowned. "He has no interest in serving in a post of such importance?"

"He has desires of grandeur, sir." Greene supplemented, leaning forward, crossing his fingers on the desktop. "Wants to lead a battalion right off, doesn't see the value in the diplomacy of all of this. Can't seem to understand the chain of command. Or, rather, appears to fancy himself above it."

The General's expression grew thoughtful. "But brilliant with a quill, you say?"

"Aye, sir. And quite brave. He will make a fine commander one day. Stole cannons right from under the British in Manhattan, when only weeks before he had defended a Loyalist professor he knew from certain death. An honorable lad."

"Well. Then maybe I shall have luck, being George Washington." He grinned, winking playfully at his counterpart. "His name, General Greene?"

"Captain Alexander Hamilton. Foreign born, I believe, but not sure where. Currently out of King's College, he's had some time with the Sons of Liberty here in New York City. A fine young man, though, brilliant from the few chats I've engaged in with him. I believe he could be of immense assistance if you could get him on your staff."

The General had heard the answer and made a conscious effort to remain still. He tilted his head as if he were merely mulling over a simple idea, but his mind in fact had gone blank in a panic. He blinked a time or two as Greene's words sunk in, and a soft buzzing filled his ears. His chest felt pressed inward and could feel his heart slamming against his rib cage. He swallowed as he felt his throat constrict at its base.  


_Hamilton is a common name_ , he quickly assured himself, feeling foolish. He'd heard it bandied about a time or two around the colonies, and if the young man was the age Knox had stated, it could never be the Alexander he was thinking of.

He shrugged it off for now. "We'll see what his current situation is and perhaps see if he would be interested in joining our circle. Do you have any contacts in the city that can speak to his talents? I would like to hear more on his character from those who may know of him before extending such an invitation."

"Aye, sir, of course. The good Reverend Knox has been a patron of his for sometime, he may be an ideal contact."

"I appreciate your contributions in this matter."

"It is our pleasure, General."

The men rose quickly, nodding softly before leaving the tent without another word. The door flapped shut and, once the General was certain they had walked away, allowed himself to sink back dazedly into his chair. He brought a hand to his head, traveling back in his memories almost 20 years to a time that he had locked away without any intention of ever rediscovering.

_19 is two years too young_ , he thought calmly to himself, and surely, _surely_ had his Alexander found his way to the colonies, Rachel would have sent a letter.

Still, the name had unnerved him. He could not help but think of the boy he'd left behind. He had maintained some intermittent contact until the child would have been about 7 or 8, when Rachel had written and told him he was getting too old, that Alexander would on occasion look at her letters without her knowledge and she didn't want him to discover their communications. While it had been difficult to accept, he could understand that she may have just wanted to sever the ties for simplicity's sake. He, in turn, had respected the request and done the same.

He quickly drafted a letter he addressed to the College and handed it to his slave. "Billy, see this gets into the hands of Reverend Knox please, and help us discern some information about the young Alexander Hamilton, hm?"

* * *

A couple of weeks later brought his answer.

His fingers shook as he clenched the paper, his jaw setting as he took one deep breath after another. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. The letter fell from his hands, falling gently on the map covered table below.

_ Fatherless at 10, orphaned at 12, penniless, destitute, alone... _

He closed his fist and ground it into his forehead, shame a stone in his gut.

_Rachel_

He sucked in a deep breath as he sat up, blinking a few times as he tried to catch his thoughts. He tried to remember her as he'd known her, when they'd met, or one of the last moments they were able to steal away, catching sight of her on the beach that afternoon before she knew he was there, beautiful face smiling into the wind.

_Yellow fever_ , the letter had said, that the boy had also suffered from. In the same bed, nonetheless.

He tried not to be angry. He tried not to let himself wonder why he'd only just seen this news. Surely she had considered, at least, writing once James had fled? What were the circumstances of that incident? Had she taken ill quickly, had she even thought to write him? Surely she would not have preferred for the boy to live so uncertainly and so young.

He turned his attention back to the letter, searching for answers. His grief at the learning of the terrible news was only matched at the guilt and fury he felt towards himself, and for another man he'd forfeited such precious responsibilities to.

_Damn James Hamilton to hell_.

" _I would prefer, your Excellency, to reinforce the importance of discretion in regards to this information, sir, for I believe he has somewhat falsified his origins to aid in his climb_ ," the Reverend had written. " _But a wretched existence for such a young man. And then the cousin only a year or so after..._ "

George shook the words from his mind. Dwelling on terrible things from the past would do nothing for the boy now, nor for the predicament at hand. He was already enlisted for service, and if Greene and Knox were correct, and they rarely were not, he would be a wise addition to his staff, if the boy would have it. He quickly drafted a warrant of service for Billy to have sent so word would make it’s way to the young Captain that his presence was desired; surely someone close to him would steer him in his direction.

He hesitated before passing it off to the slave. Would it be to tempt fate to invite the young man into his service? Would he tell him straight away of the past, or would he wait? Would he ever? Was he comfortable with putting the young man in such a position on his staff, especially if he didn't share the truths of their connection?

_Well_ , he argued to himself, _if he's going to fight, he might as well fight under your guidance._

In the end, he found the debate within had been settled in a moment of affirmation from the Reverend's letter.

" _Son to James Hamilton and Rachel Faucette Levien, although borne of illegitimate means, bright and capable and eager, I could recommend no one greater to serve in Your Excellency's service_."

He bristled now to think of it, the words misbegotten. _James Hamilton_ \---he frowned in spite of himself. For a moment, thoughts drifted back to the room where he and his brother had stayed, of the week Lawrence had been gone, how Rachel had fallen asleep before he had, her arm flung over his torso, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as her mouth parted in rest. It surprised him that the pang of the loss of a first love could still have such an effect, marveling at how the feeling ripped through him from the center of his body, taking his breath away.  


_Illegitimate is unfair_ , he thought, but he would expect nothing less. He hoped the young man had not had to suffer too much because of it, but he was all too aware of society to think otherwise.

He shook the thoughts away, pulling out correspondence from Ambassador Franklin, something about the potential visit of a french Marquis. He sighed, exasperated; the last thing he wanted to do in the middle of this mess was to deal with the _French_.

* * *

The weeks passed from there. Initially, the commission he'd issued occupied his main thoughts often, especially in the rare moments of quiet he was able to claim. He wondered if Alexander had seen it, and if he had, wondered what his thoughts had been. Knox and Greene had been clear that he had rejected their offers for him to join their camps; perhaps it was his own arrogance to believe serving at General Washington's side would be any more enticing for the young Captain.

He wondered what the boy may look like. He remembered Rachel's jet black locks, the way they dried in waves; remembered her upturned nose and dark eyes which matched his own. Remembered how the little boy's eyes had been close to the same, but other features had the tendency to occasionally change. Had he grown tall, like George? Broad and well muscled, or lean and thin like his mother?

George tried to banish the sort of thinking whenever it came. Alexander was not his---that was a privilege he had abdicated long ago, and considering the boy to be his would only make this more difficult. It was a strange sort of tug of war within himself, the desire to draw the boy in, to get to know him, all the while keeping him at some kind of distance so that he did not appear to unduly favor or dote on him.

These thoughts became fewer and further between as time went on without a response, his days and thoughts becoming occupied by far more important matters pertaining to their campaigns. They continued to struggle, being pushed further away from New York and into New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Even if Captain Hamilton responded to his request eventually, he was still in need of additional intelligent, capable members of his staff and regularly found himself vetting any and all that were recommended to him by any number of seasoned officers within his ranks.

Which is exactly how on this day, a young Captain by the name of Burr had ended up in his office. On principle, George had always tried to give men the chance to prove themselves instead of letting initial impressions sway his opinion. But there was something about the way the man postured once he entered. The young Captain wore a self-assured grin, an accessory which was not always a bad sign, but it was the swagger and tilt of his head, the way his shoulders pulled back and lifted his chest up that gave George pause; he couldn't tell if the boy was posturing or if he was just arrogant but it looked unnatural either way. As he began to speak, there was a distinct sense of condescension George felt in his words, a smooth sort of salesman's pitch as Burr complimented him backhandedly on how George was choosing to wage war during his assaults. He was very quickly unamused.

"I some questions, a couple of suggestions, on how to fight instead of fleeing west...."

Washington bit back a growl and sighed while he picked up a letter regarding supplies that had come from Greene, already resolved to only half listen to the upstart. "Yes?"

A knock at the door preempted Burr's speech, though it didn't stop the man from continuing. George made a sound of permission for whomever it was to enter but nodded at Burr to continue, assuming the knock pertained to some letter or another. He had not considered it to be the very thing that had occupied his free thoughts these past few weeks.

"Captain Hamilton, sir, at your request. You wanted to see me?"

Burr turned to face the young man who had entered, a shadow of annoyance on his face, so he did not see when General Washington lifted his head as well. This was a good thing, for George's face faltered for a moment; Alexander Hamilton, in full dress, stood at attention, his head held high and gaze straight ahead so that he also did not directly look at the General.

_He was not tall_ , George observed, but he was so much bigger than he had once been and again after weeks, felt a strange sort of tickly thickness in his throat.

_None of that now_ , he scolded himself. Especially not with anyone else to observe it, and he steeled himself to think of the business at hand. He folded the letter without looking away and cleared his throat, blinking quickly. "At ease, son. Please come in, have you met Burr?"

"Yessir, we keep meeting," They answered in tandem, and the look of annoyance on Burr's face darkened. Alexander, on the other hand, seemed unbothered and merely nodded a pleasant greeting to the man before turning back to finally actually look at Washington.

_Not his mother's nos_ e, George's traitorous mind quipped, and he bit back a smile; a test of wills waged inside of him and he forced away the urge to rise and walk closer to the young man, to grab his hand and shake it for only to know the boy’s grip, to feel that it was real. 

Burr shot Alexander one last look before turning back towards George, a smooth grin replacing the frown as easily as if he were changing a shirt. "As I was saying, sir...."

"Burr, if you'll excuse me for cutting this short, Captain Hamilton and I have been trying to organize a meeting for weeks. We can speak later." The letter he'd been reading created a sharp thwack as he stacked it with others and set the pile on the corner of his desk. He raised a brow to Burr. "Close the door on your way out?"

George did not miss the sharp stare Hamilton received as the other soldier left, but he seemed to miss it altogether. The door closed behind Burr softly, and Hamilton relaxed even further, his body loosening from it's fixed stance. He walked closer to the desk, falling into a parade rest as he closed his hands behind his back.

"Have I done something wrong, sir?"

Another test of my own will, George thought grimly, and stilled himself further. The concern was etched on the younger man's face, and aside from wanting to ensure he assuaged the boy's worry, George felt the pang of consequence at his own faults nearly overtake him. Instead of a flurry of words, he merely offered a small smile and let his hands settle in his lap.

"No, Captain, you’ve not been called for any kind of disciplinary reasons." He rumbled quietly, a soft chuckle following it. "From what I understand, you've actually made quite the name for yourself. The tales of your valor are impressive."

Hamilton flushed under the praise and ducked his head. "Thank you, sir."

"And it is because of those stories, that I must ask you, Captain, why you resist offers to join positions to serve my officers?"

Most other men that served under him may have wilted under the question. George knew he intimated most people, as the position he held would be expected to do. In the past he'd seen men demure, watched them babble and fumble over themselves in an attempt to justify what they assumed he considered bad behavior when all he wanted, truly, was an honest explanation. It was rare for him to find a level headed, calm, confident soldier who was able to present his case plainly. It was a quality he knew his staff must have, for frank and honest dialogue, alternative points of view? Both would be imperative when trying to make decisions that may mean life or death for hundreds of men, and God only knew George did not have all the answers.

It became evident rather quickly that Alexander would not align with the former type of man.

"I'm not a secretary, I'm a soldier. My job is to fight." Hamilton spat sharply.

"There's no cause for you to be defensive," George insisted, holding up a hand. "It's good that you want to fight. There's plenty of that to go around for now. But what we don't have plenty of is supplies. Congress continues to deny us equipment and assistance, and I need someone who is talented with the written word to make our case for it." He sighed, shaking his head. "I fear our army is on the precipice of collapse and we need intelligent, competent fellows to elevate us. I believe, given what i've been told about you outside of your actions in the field, you would be an ideal fit for any of the executive staff."

Hamilton flushed red. "Again, with all due respect, _sir_ , I am not a secretary.” He repeated. “While I understand they value my ability to give a voice to important matters, my priority is serving where I will be most well used."

"And you think the correspondence between campaigns and to Congress is not imperative to our success?" Washington leaned back in his seat, appraising the younger man with a raised brow. "The vibrancy of your previous rumored publications would indicate otherwise."

"I will not pretend that I believe to share one's insight of most important matters to be inconsequential but...if I may speak plainly, sir?"

Washington acknowledged with a curt nod and Hamilton continued. "I have very little here in my new home, and while I've built quite a bit since I've gotten to the colonies under the guidance of a few very great men, I believe a command to be the way to make my way in this world."

"And you do not think serving within my retinue to be a prestigious enough appointment?"

Hamilton's eyes widened. "Sir, I said nothing of the sort. I wasn't aware this was an inquiry of my skills on behalf of _your_ service."

Washington made a sort of derisive noise. "I find that hard to believe given your obvious intellect, young man." He folded his hands on his desk in front of him. "I have found myself in absence of staff that I feel I can trust, in absence of the sorts of minds needed to navigate the dangerous field of war. I have been told by many that you are of a certain intellect and valor. If you could be so obliged, I would like to enlist your services as an aide de camp."

Hamilton's eyes went wide, and George steeled himself to keep his mind on what he was trying to do here. He could not think of the fact that they shared the same tint of hair, or eyes, but that everything else was Rachel, and he most certainly could not think of the little boy he had encountered so long ago, not in the face of such a terrible conflict. He could practically feel the weight of a child in his arms and pressed it away, grinding his teeth at the thought. Alexander was looking back at him with intense scrutiny.

"And this post...what would it entail?"

George shrugged. "There are a handful of other young aides on my staff, but I assure you there is no shortage of work. You will serve where you are deemed most useful. You will write letters as I dictate them, mostly to Congress and to other commanders in the field. You will aid in my advisement, in discussions of strategy and other operations as is needed. And do not worry for the lack of combat, for I'm sure we'll find ourselves in the thick of it often enough." He stood then, walking around the desk to stand within inches of the boy, drawing himself up tall so that he towered over him. If Alexander was intimidated, he did not show it; in fact, he appeared determined, and sincere as he replied.

"Your Excellency, I would be honored to serve in your camp. When shall I report for duty, sir?"

"As soon as possible." George reached out to shake Hamilton's hand, which was offered without hesitation, and felt himself calm at touch--- _this will work out fine_ , he thought to himself, and offered a sober smile. "We have a lot of work to do."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm like 98% positive Reverend Knox was still in Nevis during all this BUT i do what I want in this verse, so be warned of that.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://cattlaydee.tumblr.com) come yell with me about these two


End file.
